Her long chestnut hair
was the marvel and boast of the Convent and, what she prized more,
the admiration of the city. It covered her like a veil down to her
knees when she chose to let it down in a flood of splendor. Her
deep gray eyes contained wells of womanly wisdom. Her skin, fair
as a lily of Artois, had borrowed from the sun five or six faint
freckles, just to prove the purity of her blood and distract the eye
with a variety of charms. The Merovingian Princess, the long-haired
daughter of kings, as she was fondly styled by the nuns, queened it
wherever she went by right divine of youth, wit, and beauty.
"I should not have had the felicity of meeting you, Mademoiselle
Roy, had I gone to Belmont," replied the Chevalier, not liking the
question at all. "I preferred not to go."
"You are always so polite and complimentary," replied she, a trace
of pout visible on her pretty lips. "I do not see how any one could
stay away who was at liberty to go to Belmont! And the whole city
has gone, I am sure! for I see nobody in the street!" She held an
eye-glass coquettishly to her eye.
Pages:
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374